


Soliloquy of the Brave and the Free

by Foxglove (Foxskip)



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Blow Jobs, Current Events, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Infidelity, M/M, Old Age, Smut, White House, political insurrection, slight homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxskip/pseuds/Foxglove
Summary: After Trump is heartbroken over losing the election, his twitter, and his best friend, an old flame is reignited in the eleventh hour of his Presidency.
Relationships: Mike Pence/Donald Trump
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Soliloquy of the Brave and the Free

**Author's Note:**

> “'an exceptional window into americana culture' - New York Times" - Isaac
> 
> “Perfect satire that transcends political commentary” - Foxskip
> 
> "A postmodern tragedy to rival Cats (2019)" - Foxskip

Jan 8, 2021

Trump sat stunned in the Oval Office as the reality of his situation sank in. Over the course of the past few weeks, one by one his so-called friends, hired judges, department officials, and Conservative outlets betrayed him as criticism mounted. Now he was being expected to condemn the actions of his most loyal followers? The very people who had stuck through with him until the end? He had no one to talk to, it seemed like everyone he had trusted was two-faced as his term came to a close.

_Oh God_ , he wondered, _it really is ending isn’t it?_

He could have won the lawsuits, uncover the conspiracy and fraud that cost him his rightful win, if only he had more time. People were resigning left and right, packing up and leaving after the destruction and damage of the riot a few days prior. As the hours ticked by, the halls felt more and more empty; nobody would even make eye contact with him, he was running out of options. 

To make matters worse, just today his precious Twitter account was suspended, maybe indefinitely. Everyone was laughing at him and he couldn’t do anything to fight back or get in contact with his supporters. It was all so unfair, things were going so right before the China Virus… But now even Pence had stabbed him in the back by deciding to attend Sleepy Biden’s Inauguration ceremony.

_Pence…_ The name made his jowls quiver. They were supposed to rule the world together, an unstoppable pair. Mike’s cold shoulder hurt most of all, he hadn’t said a word to Donald for days and all of his calls went straight to a full voicemail or incompetent assistant. Trump put his head in his hands and sighed, feeling the weight of responsibility for the first time in four years. 

_If only Mike were here, things would be okay… We were so happy together on the campaign trail, what I wouldn’t give to have that again. Why can’t I get him out of my head? He promised he would help me…_

Was it his stoic smile? His normal sized hands and dump truck ass? His personality and charisma of a plank of wood? Whatever it was, he was the complete opposite of Trump, and he couldn’t get enough of him. The more Pence avoided him, the more Trump lusted to smell his stale, morgue odor again. 

A knock at the door jolted Trump from his thoughts and the breath quickly left his COVID wrecked lungs as the man from his fantasies materialized. Pence was shrouded in a halo of holy bureaucratic light, a beautiful sight offset by his distressed hair and sunken eye sockets. Before Trump could react, Pence strode across the room and towered over the flabby man. His gaze was so full of contempt, it was harsh enough to melt steel beams. Trump suddenly found he could not say anything. 

_WHACK!_

Pence—no, Mike, Donald’s own Savior, had slapped Donald with enough force to cook a small chicken breast (coincidentally the exact same size as Don’s liver). Mike pushed the phone out of Donald’s hands and shoved all of his papers from the top of the desk where they settled in disarray among debris and moving boxes. He then took Donald’s head in between his hands and Donald noticed that he was trembling. 

“Mr. President, I know this is so wrong, but the foundation of the world is ending and I can’t be without you for another moment. I miss everything about you: your unsealed body paint staining chairs, your incomprehensible way of talking, your weak bones, but most of all your irresistible, sinful lips.”

And with that their greasy faces collided, snorting and slobbering without care for safety, pandemic be damned. Donald moaned and gasped into Mike’s tongue, a hand pulled him from his chair, another grasped at his ass, and one tugged at his button-up for hiding his voluptuous flesh. Their fingers fumbled at the ties, buttons and zippers came off until the cold air bit at their skin. But that was no matter—they were driven by a desperation from chemistry and hormones that no prostitute or despondent wife had provided to them before.

Mike’s hand found its way to Donald’s deflated bulge, feeling like a thoroughly rotten mango. His sausage slowly warmed to Mike’s touches, emerging from the shadow of his gut in a mess of saggy skin and wrinkles. It strained from disuse and looked beet red like the head was about to burst at any moment.

“Let’s recreate a bit of history.” Mike said as he pushed Donald back into his chair and pulled his dick fully free, kneeling in front of him in a final act of submission. He wanted to please Donald one last time, he was a storm that demanded awe and respect, like a hurricane slowly gathering energy for its devastating tirade. He was as burning hot as the liberal myth of global warming. At seventy four, he was wise and had a voice like melted asphalt poured by underpaid illegal Mexican immigrants that Mike found irresistible. 

They gave in to their primal desires as the rest of the world melted away, and as soon as it started, the encounter would come to a close. Donald started wheezing under the strain, eyebrows furrowing by the pure ecstasy Mike was giving him. He was getting close, he was so dizzy, and his chest started to hurt. Mike went all out, getting sloppier as Donald started to grunt and moan as he approached the edge. 

Cum starts to pour into Mike’s mouth while Donald gasped above him. Suddenly, at the end of his last moan he began to seize up in shock, grasping at his chest for breath that would not come as he just had. He weakly coughed and blood dribbled from his mouth as he slumped back dead in his chair. His organs, which had been weakened by COVID, finally gave out and completely shut down at a most inconvenient time.


End file.
